


Steals all my reason

by Toss_a_coin_to_your_daddy



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, First Kiss, Fix-It of Sorts, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Idiots in Love, Jaskier | Dandelion Has a Past, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pre-Slash, Unrequited Love, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:27:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23035507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toss_a_coin_to_your_daddy/pseuds/Toss_a_coin_to_your_daddy
Summary: When a siren steals Ciri, Geralt must turn to the one person he thought he'd never see again. And Jaskier is not happy about it. At first... But not even a grumpy Witcher can keep our bard down.Pre-slash.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 5
Kudos: 302





	Steals all my reason

He should have known, and maybe he had hoped at one point the Witcher would turn up again, and their paths stumble across each other. But it had been over a year since that afternoon on the mountain side, a year or more of being around all sorts of people and entertaining them ceaselessly with his song and *other methods*, but for whatever reason none of them could fill that void the Witcher had left in him. He had started to give up hope of ever seeing him again, and it was just as well, his wounded pride and hurt feelings had nearly subsided, when from nowhere, he showed up. 

The town wasn’t small by any means, he could have been at any number of the taverns or pubs, but it seemed the Witcher could sense where he was, the neighing of a horse outside the only warning of a newcomer, and Jaskier would not admit to perking up at the sound, because how could Roach have such a distinct voice that he recognized it from any other horse? But he wasn’t mistaken as the tall form of the Witcher blocked the light from the doorway.As he entered, the other bar patrons seemed to shrink and their loud conversations became hushed whispers. 

Jaskier could barely contain the smirk this brought to his lips, not so beloved anymore without me singing your praises, eh witcher? He thought bitterly and continued playing as though he hadn’t noticed the other take a long look in his direction before stalking to the bar for a pint of ale and finding the darkest corner to inevitably brood in. 

Nearly a half hour passed and Jaskier was starting to believe the other had actually just happened across him and would ignore him in favor of finding a different tavern when a strange feeling overcomes him, the dark corner seeming that much more appealing. He didn’t understand why, not until he approached the table hesitantly, where Geralt was giving him a knowing look as he studied him. 

“Have a seat.” The other stated simply.

“Did you… did you just compel me?!” He asked aghast and Geralt rolled his eyes, but did not deny anything, as he pushed the seat out for him with his foot. He gave a look of annoyance but at the Witcher’s returned glare, he huffed, and plopped into the chair, saving his energy for the argument ahead, crossing his arms over his chest. As the silence hung between them like a heavyweight Jaskier grew impatient and threw his hands in exasperation. “So, you found me, for whatever reason. Didn’t finish with your speech how I’ve ruined your life and come to finish the job?” He asked annoyed and a flicker of something crossed Geralt’s face at his words, guilt? No.

The Witcher schooled his expression and with a sigh that seemed to cause him a great deal of pain, he muttered something imperceptible. 

“I’m sorry, are we talking in code? I don’t speak Witcher anymore.” He says acidly.

“ I need your help.” He said a bit louder through gritted teeth and the bard seemed to freeze with the words. So long in fact Geralt began to wonder if something had happened to him when he burst out laughing. Geralt sat there, barely containing his annoyance but Jaskier could hardly care. 

“That. That is rich.” The bard began through his chuckles. “You, the mighty witcher, Geralt of Rivia! Needs MY help?! Well, I’m sorry but I’m awfully busy, fully booked I’m afraid believe it or not, knowing your disdain for my songs. Songs that helped put coin into your pocket by the way, but never mind that!”

“Jaskier…”

“NO! No, you don’t just get to come in here like nothing’s wrong. Like you didn’t kick me out of your life over half a year ago and pretend like we’re just catching up and you need a favor from a friend. You made it quite clear that we… or I wasn’t yours.”

“Jaskier. Please, I…” The Witcher was starting to lose patience with the bard, he knew he deserved the verbal lashing, was expecting it even, but hadn’t realized how hurt the other would still be. Absence, in fact, does not make the heart grow fonder it seems. 

“Please? Please! Oh sweet Melitele, this must be serious if you’re using such words!” he goes on, and his babbling seems to be drawing the attention of the bar. 

“It is” The other growls, teeth clenched, his golden eyes flashing, and Jaskier pauses his tirade of words to really take in the Witcher. Eight months shouldn’t have done much to someone like Geralt, in the years he knew him and they had come in and out of each other’s orbit the man had scarcely changed at all, with the exception of new scars added to the tapestry of skin. But now… he looked tired. Bags under his eyes, the slightly hunched shoulders, and a freshly healed scar, still slightly pink over his eye, marring his once pristine handsome face, though admittedly it didn’t make him less so. Jaskier shook the thoughts away, though Geralt’s deadpan expression seems to speak of his genuine need for help, for whatever reason, as he pondered this the witcher continued. “It’s a siren, it can only be lured out by song.” he grumbles

“So sing to it.” he bites out, crossing his arms over his chest annoyed the others intentions are to use him as bait. “Why do you need me?” 

“It only likes nice singing.” the compliment comes out sounding and looking more like a threat, the Witcher’s sharp looking incisors on display as he grimaces at the omission, and Jaskier has to do everything not to fall out of his chair from utter shock, before reining himself back, schooling himself.

“Well, I’m flattered, truly. But surely you didn’t come all this way, when you could have found any bar singer or pretty girl with a sweet voice on your way. Why me?” he pressed seeing through the other’s bs.

Geralt heaves an exasperated sigh and Jaskier can’t help but feel like he missed it. Because…” he begins at a lower tone than before. “it’s her.” 

“Her? You mean Yennefer?! Of all the damn people on the entire continent, you ask me to help you save her?!” Jaskier starts up again and Geralt promptly reaches out, covering his mouth with a heavy hand, a dangerous look of warning in his eyes which shuts the bard up. 

“This conversation needs more privacy.” he growls, and Jaskier might be mad but he knows from the look alone not to argue further, at least not yet. He sets his jaw angrily and nods, promising silently to not continue shouting and Geralt removes his hand. 

“I have a room…” He states with quiet annoyance and rises with his lute and gestures for the witcher to follow. They ascend the stairs with a tense silence hanging between them, but once the door of the room is securely closed Jaskier makes to round on him but Geralt speaks first.

“It’s not Yen.” he intones and the protest dies on Jaskier’s tongue for but a moment before he sets his lute aside.

“Then some other trolip! Sorry! Not interested in your conquests or the trouble they find themselves in having known you.” He sneers, hoping the words sting the way he wants them too. And judging by the flash of emotions that cross the Witcher’s face it does. The one thing he was not expected was the absolute undeniable rage that burned in his molten gaze, and this was possible worse then that time on the mountain. There he was sent away, and wasn’t this close. Closer in fact now that the witcher quickly closed the space between them in barely a breath, slamming him up against the door. This close he struggles to see past the anger radiating off the other but he’s a good read of people, and while it had been a while he could still read Geralt.

He recognized that look, he’d seen it right before they unleashed the Djinn, before things became complicated… He was frustrated, angry, and above all desperate. But desperate for what? He softened, somewhat unwillingly (he was still angry after all), mostly out of fear. Geralt had never hurt him physically that is, well except for that gut punch so long ago… but the look in his eyes now made him a little worried, especially this close. 

“Who is it Geralt?” He asked, his voice coming out much softer than he intended, but it seemed to calm the other, his grip loosening but altogether still holding him flush against the wall and his broad chest. 

“My Surprise” The witcher states simply, and the Bard scrunches his face in thought for a moment before it dawns on him. 

“Your Surprise? You mean that surprise!? Of Cintra! You found the PR-...” He didn’t realize he was shouting until Geralt growled putting his gloved hand over his mouth yet again. 'Oh.'

“Don’t make me regret this Bard. You’re the only one I can trust.” He admits begrudgingly and Jaskier’s eyes widen at the confession and he nods, and Geralt steps back slowly.

Jaskier ponders momentarily before quickly slipping out of Geralt’s grasp, under his arm and begins gathering up his things. Geralt, surprised at the bard’s quickness turns with a grunt and a questioning gaze and Jaskier rolls his eyes. “Well if I’m coming with you I’m not leaving without my effects.” He said airily collecting up a small pile of papers, no doubt full of scrawls of notes for ballads in the work. Geralt gives a sigh of relief but holds it as Jaskier turns a nasty glare on him. “I want to make this clear, I’m NOT doing this for YOU. I’m only doing this for the sake of the girl…” He said, his anger and annoyance evident in his voice, but the hurt made his voice crack and forcing him to turn away quickly to gather his lute across his back, knowing the Witcher would pick up on it, but he could at least try to hide it. 

“Jaskier…” Geralt began to say roughly but the bard turned back with a steely look at him, one arm laden with his portfolio of papers, and marched past him briskly out the door. 

“So, are we going? I don’t have all my life to waste.” He interrupts bitterly, resisting the desire to break out in a run, but he can hardly outrun his emotions any better than he could outrun Geralt. But he was not going to accept some half assed apology just so the other can smooth things over until he got what he wanted and promptly dumps him again. They exit the tavern in uncomfortable silence and Jaskier notices Roach right away, her head bowed at a water trough outside and he can’t help the smile that tugs his lips. He missed her, she never had an unkind word for him. “Roach! You beautiful horse!” he cries as she looks up and whinneys softly. Geralt grumbles as the he approaches the horse and she butts her head affectionately into his chest, bumping the smaller man back a step who laughs, revealing a shining apple from his jacket pocket for her. He pets her head and she chomps the apple with a few large bites, her ears flicking merrily. Geralt rolls his eyes, untying her bridle and mumbles something half heartedly about traitors. Hoisting himself into the saddle he gives a glance to the bard who merely gestures for him to lead the way, if a little haughtily. 

They travel on for a few hours, the bard humming a tune to himself or occasionally strumming a new melody, lost in his own thoughts, or, attempting to be while he traveled with the one person he never thought he’d be with on an adventure again. After a while though, Jaskier begrudgingly realizes his boots are once again not fit for all this travel. He’d been saving up his earnings for a steed, but on a bard’s pay, that was taking a while. Geralt noticed the other was falling a bit behind for the last half hour, but didn’t comment til the other was blatantly grumbling to himself, he thought he was being quiet, but he must have forgotten about the Witcher’s heightened senses. “stupid Geralt, and his stupid sexy ass, sitting on his dumb horse…” were some of the comments he picked up before he stopped Roach in the middle of the lane. Jaskier stumbled to a halt as the other dismounted, holding the horses reins in one hand and a fist on his hip, giving a huff before extending the reins to the bard. 

“What are you doing?” Jaskier asked with confusion.

“You obviously are tired, and wearing the wrong footwear for this kind of travelling.” 

“That mattered little to you before. I’m fine, and can keep up.” He stubbornly protested and attempted to brush past him but the other grabbed his arm in one large hand, effectively stopping him.

“Jaskier…” he begins but trails off, instead of whatever he was going to say dies on his lips, and he grasps the smaller man around his waist and in one fell swoop lifts him off his feet with a surprised yelp and hucks him on the horses back like a sack of potatoes. 

“What the- OH MY GOD GERALT, YOU ABSOLUTE BRUTE!” He cries, struggling to stay aloft as he lays across the saddle as Geralt commands Roach to march on before he can slide off or adjust. Geralt merely huffs a laugh at the other, but slows the horse so he can swing his leg over and ride properly. Jaskier sits in the saddle, arms crossed indignantly over his chest, his clothes and hair ruffled from the manhandling he received. “You didn’t have to manhandle me.” he grouses and Geralt merely grunts as a response, but Jaskier can see the smirk on his lips. They ride along in silence for a few minutes, before Jaskier finally starts asking questions, needing time to catch his breath but not admitting as such. “So, Geralt. How did all this come to pass? You know how I’m a sucker for a good story.” He asks but Geralt remains silent. “Huh, yes, typical. Not very forthcoming with the details, as usual. Then let me guess! Let’s see, you wander the country, your new ward under your care, protecting her from all sorts of danger and political intrigue, obviously the one surviving heir to the throne of Cintra would really put a wrench in Nilfgard’s plan for domination, am I right so far?” which receives a grumble, which he takes to be him agreeing. “And then! then , well, I honestly can’t imagine what would have happened that you would have lost her and would seek out my help to get her back I mean…”

“She ran off. She was careless, and I… may have said things that upset her…” Geralt growls.

“Gee, what a surprise.” Jaskier comments sarcastically, receiving a glare that shuts him up.

Geralt shakes his head and continues. “ She ran off to the water's edge of a large lake, we’re almost there actually. I suppose her skipping rocks angered a siren because they stole her. They demanded only…” he trails off.

“Only?” Jaskier pries and Geralt huffs. 

“Only the fairest voice in the land to serenade them, or they’ll not return the fairest child.” Geralt quoted with annoyance, pointedly not glancing back at the bard, knowing full well the smirk of pride on his face. 

“So you admit it! I knew you always liked my singing, you’re just loathe to admit it!”

“Actually they asked for you, specifically." He continues at Jaskier's confused expression. "They said many years ago a fine young boy, born to a count, but longed for freedom would often play on a dock nearby in the evening. Til one day he never returned. Ring a bell?” Geralt said, looking over his shoulder to the shocked bard. 

“How did you…” he asks, voice meek.

“I listen, Jaskier. The number of times you introduced yourself to others with your real name were few and far between but I remember. And I once slew a kikamore of your Father’s request. I vaguely remember a small boy, sneaking out the back, and nearly dying as he went straight to the bog to play his lute…” Geralt lifted an eyebrow as many emotions flitted over the bard’s face. 

“That was you?” he whispers,and Geralt merely turns his attention back to the lane. They ride on in silence again, Jaskier having a battle of wills as the onslaught of memories of his past threaten to consume him. He didn’t think anyone had heard his playing, that the whispers of encouragement were only in his mind, sitting out there in the night, playing in secret. 'The son of a count, shouldn’t waste his time playing the lute like a pansy! Shouldn’t have named him for a flower...’ His father would yell. And then the memory of the horrible monster attack, and the hero that saved him. The memories were fuzzy, it had been so long ago, but he could still hear the singing of the man’s blade, the screeches of the beast as it was slew. He pulled on the reins stopping Roach to a halt and Geralt looked back as the bard slid from the saddle. 

“What are you doing?” He asked, exasperation and annoyance in his tone. 

“I’m not going back there. I can’t…” He said with all seriousness, a rare thing from him.

“We’re not. The Siren’s are on the other side of the lake. It’s been years, they’ve migrated since then.” Geralt explained and the other relaxed, if minutely. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t recognized where they were headed, but after a while all the woods and roads started to look the same. Only the cities hold any differences, if even then. Geralt, (unsurprisingly) but thankfully makes no more comments on his demeanor, choosing to step off the road into the trees. 

“Wha? Geralt? Where are you going?” He whines following the other into the woods, not wanting to be left alone, it feels too familiar… Geralt ties Roach’s reins to a small tree with care, not answering and Jaskier hugs his lute to his chest. “Are we here?” He whispers in a voice he thinks is quiet but is apparently not enough at the look Geralt shoots him. Geralt simply nods, stowing the sword at his back in the saddle bag that held his silver one, knowing it would be useless should a fight happen here. Jaskier watches quietly, secretly glad for the lack of need for deadly force, but has no doubts the Witcher could easily take care of business should the need arise with just his bare hands...

They creep quietly through the remaining wood, quickly coming upon a drop off that slopes to a muddy bank. Jaskier can’t help the huff of annoyance at the thought of getting his boots muddy before Geralt points down the bank, helpfully drawing his attention to a crop of smooth looking rocks that meet the bank. He trudges ahead, thankful, but still annoyed and a bit melancholy, knowing that once the Witcher gets his precious child of surprise back then their short lived reunion will be over. 

Once they reach the rocks Geralt shoos him to go out, opting to hang back at the tree line, no doubt wanting the element of surprise when the sirens show. Not liking the idea that he’s being used as bait but having little choice he walks out, picking his way among the rock bar and sits at the edge of the lake, the small waves lapping over the rocks, a few feet from his boot as he strums his lute lovingly for the first time in hours...

HOURS had gone by, and he could feel his cheeks and the back of his neck prickling with the start of a sunburn. His head fell back tiredly as he had, after an hour, opted to sit on one of the rocks and play instead of dancing back and forth from foot to foot. He really wasn’t into this to be honest, and maybe that’s why whatever monster wasn’t appearing. 

“Geralt, this isn’t working! Are you sure this is the right place? What if they left again?” He whines loudly to the tree line.

“Just keep playing bard.” comes the gruff reply. 

“Just keep playing…” He says in a mocking tone, twanging the strings a bit harshly and set it down gingerly propped up against the rock and made to take off his boots. The tide was coming in and he figured he could at least enjoy the coolness of the water on his feet if he had to be stuck out here til Melitele knew when. Picking the instrument back up with a sigh, his feet splashing the water around his ankles, he began a tune about as melancholy as his mood.  
A long while of simply strumming the melody of his newest song, he closed his eyes, the words flowing off his lips from memory. So long had this melody been in his head, he didn’t know where it had even begun, just that it had always been with him. As he sang the second verse, the part that maybe was a bit close to home if he was honest with himself, he saw a large ripple in the water coming from a large rock not far from his spot. His fingers didn’t falter but his voice might have, so he worked it into the song, his emotions over the lyrics helping it along.

From behind the grey rock a shock of auburn hair peaks out and he can’t believe his eyes, for once his voice has left him, completely speechless at the beautiful face of the women who peaks out at him. His fingers twang a terrible note in his unfocused state and she quickly moves back behind the rock and he’s jumping to his feet before he realizes just what he’s doing. “Wait!” He calls not caring about the hem of his pants getting wet, just wanting to glimpse her again, but she’s gone. He looks back toward the trees, knowing already he’ll see frustration on the witcher’s face, but is surprised when Geralt gestures for him to keep playing with an? Is that an encouraging look?! No, the sun must have him hallucinating, but... he’ll take what he can get, even if it’s an illusion brought on by the heat. He begins to play in earnest, hoping, praying in fact that he can entice the beautiful creature to return.

The sun had begun it’s slow descent long ago, and was just kissing the edge of the lake when Jaskier sighed. He’d run through every single song he could think of, TWICE, and not so much as a ripple had returned. The tide had receded again, and the stones had dried in the heat, and he decided in his utter boredom to lay down on a particularly large flat rock, watching the clouds streak in pretty colors as the sunset. His lute rested against his chest, playing it idly, as he just let his hands play any melody that came to mind, nothing in particular coming to mind, but once again they began to play *that* song. He hummed the words to the song, his eyes closed, and a cool breeze from the lake ruffled his hair and he smiled.

Despite the sunburn and the angry Witcher probably stomping the forest into mulch behind him he couldn’t really complain about how this day had unfolded. Sure he could be in a tavern right now, as the dinner rush began, making coin for his bed and maybe some company in said bed, but he couldn’t remember a time he just played for the hell of it. As his mind wandered with the song, he heard the distinct sound of a large bubbles off to his left. He didn’t dare stop though, hoping the siren had maybe returned. He ever so slowly turned his head to the side to look out at the lake when he was startled by a pair of blue swirling eyes peering at him from the edge of the same rock as before. ‘Oh!’ he said, sitting up, but remembered to keep playing, and not to mess up this time. He smiled cheekily at the beauty, her hair pooling around her in an enticing way as it swirled in the lake around her, leaving just this much to imagination as to what lay beneath. She smiled a small sweet smile in return and swam a bit closer, the lake must only be shallow within a few feet of the shore, Jaskier thinks to himself as the women was able to come within a few feet of him but still be totally submerged, the swell of her lovely breasts just visible at the surface of the water. 

He crouches down, switching to a softer melody now, hoping she likes it, and she must, for she breathes a sigh through her lush lips, sweeping away an errant hair away from her face and rest her head on her propped hand, watching him expectantly. *Finally an audience who understands art!* he thinks with a goofy smile. 

“So… what’s your name, my lady?” He asks with his best rakish smile, and she blushes prettily but doesn’t respond, her eyes sparkling like the lake with enchantment as he works his hands in a complicated way over the familiar strings. 

“ She can’t speak.” the gruff voice of Geralt startles both and the siren’s eyes widen with fear and she dives out of sight once more the flash of a silvery tail, sprays water droplets into the air.

“No! Come back! God damnit Geralt, it took all day for her to come back!” He yells angrily as he turns to the Witcher standing right behind him, how he snuck up on them being so large he’ll never know. But the gold eyes of the witcher were not on him, they were focused on the surface of the lake. 

“Keep playing.” Is all he uttered and sat on the rock calmly. Jaskier stood to his full height which even with the other sitting brought him eye level with the larger man. 

“I’ve been playing, all damn day! And I’m tired, and hungry and sunburned because of you, and now you scared her away you big brute!” he yells at him, pushing against his chest with all the force he can muster but Geralt doesn’t even rock back to his annoyance and dismay. All he receives is an incredulous look and crossed arms over said broad chest, which says ‘Try that again bard, and your pant legs won’t be the only thing wet.’ So instead of hitting the witcher again in his anger or spouting off about his woes of hunger and annoyance he does the only thing left to him. He spins his lute angrily around his back and makes to march off back to the wood. He’s barely two steps away with his back turned when he’s being tugged back by the strap around his chest, and he shoots a vicious look at Geralt over his shoulder, and at the offending hand wrapped around the neck of his lute. “LET GO.” he grounds out through his teeth. Geralt’s grip does not loosen and he growls, ripping the strap off him, leaving the witcher only holding the instrument in his hand as he makes off back to the shore. 

“You know you can’t live without this.” the exasperated sigh reaches him as he stomps on, the rocks uncomfortable on his bare feet, back he’s not turning back, no sir-ee. 

“I’ll get another one!” he yells back. 

“Jaskier.” the call of his name, softer now had his steps faltering, and he stopped, taking a breath and letting it out through his nose in a rush of noisy air. He looked over his shoulder at the figure of his once friend and for the first time really looked at him. Worry was etched into his brow, his shoulders normally broad and with good posture were slumped with tiredness, like he might have been carrying the weight of the world on them, and perhaps he had, he certainly could have been compared to Atlas in a song he might have wrote in the past, but he’s decidedly shied away from ballads of frightening beautiful men for the past couple of months. Geralt raises his head and Jaskier is done for, the witcher’s eyes molten with the last gleam of sun setting on the lake, and even though the other wanted people to believe he didn’t have emotions, Jaskier could feel the sorrow rolling off him, the sadness in his eyes telling him all he needed to know. He threw his head back with a dramatic sigh and turned about, trudging back to the rock the Witcher now occupied and plopped down beside him. He held his hand out for the lute and Geralt placed it in his waiting hand. 

They sat in silence for a long moment, just the water sloshing over the rocks could be heard and Jaskier sighed, cursing his heart for yearning for this kind of companionship again. All he wanted to do on the mountain side was escape from their lives, go to the coast, if only for a little while and forget about everything. He didn’t have to have the love he craved from the other man, just to be at his side was enough, and that pipe dream had gone up in smoke. This must be fate's cruel joke, he decided. But if fate was going to do this he may as well make the most of it. 

“This.. seems to be the only song that works…” He mumbled as he played the familiar tune. He’d never been embarrassed to sing one of his songs, not a bawdy tune with raunchy innuendo, or for any audience, but his traitor heart was now racing, his cheeks flushing with heat, and his palms sweaty around the neck of his lute. 

The fairer sex, they often call it  
But her love's as unfair as a crook  
It steals all my reason  
Commits every treason  
Of logic, with naught but a look

He sings, his chest feels like it’s in a vice, but he continues for his one person audience.

A storm breaking on the horizon  
Of longing and heartache and lust  
She's always bad news  
It's always lose, lose  
So tell me love, tell me love  
How is that just?

But the story is this  
She'll destroy with her sweet kiss  
Her sweet kiss  
But the story is this  
She'll destroy with her sweet kiss

He feels the gaze of the witcher on him now, and he thanks the gods the sunburn masks most of his reddened skin due to his attentiveness.

Her current is pulling you closer  
And charging the hot, humid night  
The red sky at dawn is giving a warning, you fool  
Better stay out of sight  
I'm weak my love, and I am wanting  
If this is the path I...

He’s interrupted by the witcher saying his name in a rough whisper, he looks at him his fingers stilling over the strings, Geralt’s gaze is out at the rock though, and Jaskier follows his gaze, and maybe he has heat stroke because instead of just the one beautiful mermaid there’s now 3. The beauty from before was now accompanied by another with raven hair, her eyes a glowing silver, and even this far Jaskier was drawn to her. The third, still partially hidden from view, Jaskier belatedly realized was not a mermaid at all, but a young girl. The girl was scared, it was not hard to tell even from a distance, her green piercing eyes were affixed on Geralt, her blond hair was long and clinging to her face with wetness, and it was like looking at Pavetta all over again. 

“Ciri…” The Witcher breathes her name like a prayer, and Jaskier privately wishes he’d say his name like that, with that much feeling. The Witcher is to his feet in less than a breath, and the dark haired mermaids eyes narrow, her arm wrapped around Ciri possessively. Geralt moves to the drop off, water past the ankles of his boots, but he doesn’t seem to notice. 

The tension in the air can be cut with a knife, as the mermaid gracefully dives below the surface, her silvery tail gleaming in the light of the slowly rising moon, and emerges at the Witcher’s feet, lifting herself to lounge on the ledge and Jaskier could hardly be faulted when his jaw drops at the sight. Her dark hair falling in curtains over her shoulders, barely concealing her ample breasts and her eyes even more alluring this close. He involuntarily stood, his lute forgotten on the stone behind him. She smiled at him and directed her eyes to the Witcher who stood above her. “I’ve done as you requested, now release her.” He commands and she rolls her eyes casting a glance back at her companion and she moves out from the rock, helping the floundering girl. 

The Witcher’s full attention on the girl doesn’t notice the mermaids glance return to the bard behind him. As Geralt steps to the side of the posing siren he crouches and reaches out a hand to grab Ciri from the water as they draw near, the mermaids eyes seem to glitter with enticing beauty, she extends the hand from her waist out to the bard, a clear invitation to come closer, and damn him if he couldn’t realize a trap set right in front of him, he listened, inching closer as though in a trance. Once he was right upon her, he sank to his knees in the water, awed by her so that he didn’t even mind the cool lake water soaking his trousers. 

“You… Somehow, I feel like I know you… Remember you.” He spoke in a hushed tone his mind searching and she tilted her head in agreeance, though no words left her mouth. She reached out, her cool fingers touching his cheek, and his eyes closed, a serene smile spread across his face at her touch. It felt… like coming home, and in his mind beautiful, otherworldly song played and he knew it was her real voice. 

Geralt’s hand made purchase on Ciri, her small trembling hand grasping his as he hauled her out of the water into his arms. His large hands nearly engulfed her tear stained face as he looked her over for injury, she nodded silently a reassurance passing between them, and she hugged him tightly. He felt like he could breathe again, she was safe. Opening his eyes after a long moment though did not continue his contented feeling. He witnessed just as the dark hair siren, moved to press her lips to Jaskier, her hand hooking around his neck as he returned the kiss and in a swift movement tumbled back with the bard, disappearing below the surface. 

“Fuck…” He murmured lifting Ciri easily to the rock, out of the Siren’s reach. “Don’t move.” He commanded and she nodded with a worried expression.

A musical voice filled his head as he sank slowly down. Weightless, careless, Jaskier couldn’t remember a time he felt so… serene. 

‘It’s been too long, little lark, say you’ll sing with us forever…’ 

‘ Forever…’ he thinks absently. “Forever is an awful long time… what about…’

‘Forget them, little lark, you’re too good for their world. Too bright, too beautiful…’

‘Too much… Geralt said that once…’ he thinks sadly, his lungs beginning to burn. He opened his eyes, the water blurring his vision as bubbles rose before his face, creating a veil between him and her. Her black hair swirled above her, her breasts round and supple and so tempting even now as he strained to hold his breath.

‘Let go my love, stay…’ 

Unbidden a few bubbles escaped his nose, the effort becoming too much as her arms encircled him, dragging him further down, and he realized, as perhaps a fleeting thought now, that he was going to die. The thought should have sent panic racing through him, but the music of her voice was doing strange things to him, making him calm, accepting even of this inevitability.

‘Perhaps… I could… no one would miss me…’ the thought rises, just like the bubbles, now escaping his mouth rapidly, their forms wobbling and floating before his eyes, disappearing in the murk. His eyes close, the burning begins to subside, and numbness starts to set into his bones.

Floating, or falling, he couldn’t tell, but he was suddenly let go. Unbeknownst to him the Witcher had wrenched him away from the Siren, she hissed, her soft curves and smile sharpened wickedly, her face taking on angles, her teeth now revealed as needle sharp and monstrous. Geralt was ready for her, the fore thought to have taken a potion to help his dexterity and quickness aside, he was an able swimmer. The Siren lashed out, her hands like claws, and he tried to move out of range but she still caught him, catching in the chain of his medallion around his neck. 

‘He’s ours. An even trade.’ She hissed, her voice now hideous with rage. 

The Witcher gritted his teeth, the claws digging into his bicep, but he had endured worse. ‘That wasn’t part of the deal.’ He thinks, showing his teeth in a feral grin, knowing the Siren can read his thoughts as the last time they met had a similar outcome when she had stolen Ciri from him. But not again, he was prepared this time. 

He struggled with her for what felt like hours, but may have only been a few seconds, his lungs burning with the effort, when a flash of red whirled by them, The second younger mermaid swam to Jaskier, his form limp, eyes closed, and for a moment Geralt thought she would take him away, but she gave him a knowing glance as she wrapped her arms around him and began to ascend. His attention back to the assault at hand, the other’s attention having been momentarily lapsed by the rescue at hand, she seethes with anger, and lunges at him with her fangs, but stops abruptly, the edge of a silver dagger at her throat cutting her short, the blade kIssing her throat and wisps of red swirled in the space between them. Instead of retreating at the threat of imminent death, the Siren hissed viciously and slashed at him with her clawed hand, which he only managed to dodge partially, the salty water stingy as she caught him across the cheek with one claw, angry he thrust the dagger into her throat and she finally ceased. Her grey eyes looked pained for a moment, before going blank, Geralt pushed her away, and ascended to the surface.

Air had never tasted so good, he gasped and swam for the ledge, huffing as he heaved himself up. A few feet away the red haired Siren looked worriedly down on a unmoving Jaskier, Ciri had an equally concerned look, but had obediently stayed on the rock, out of reach of the water. Geralt clambered over, grabbing the bard by the front of his soaked doublet, yanking his body effortlessly into his chest. 

“Damnit Jaskier,” He growled thumping the smaller man on the back a few times but only a dribble of water escaped his lolling mouth. “Fuck” Taking a large breath and pinching the bard’s nose closed with his free hand he seals their mouths together, filling the bard’s lungs with air, then repeats thumping his back. Once, twice, three times he does this, growing more frustrated and desperate at the lack of response, when finally, finally the other coughs, taking a rasping breath as he chokes up a gush of water. An audible sigh of relief reached him and he looked up to Ciri still perched on the rock, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment at what she’d just witnessed. ‘Great, never living that down.’ He thinks begrudgingly, as he pulls the bard against him again to pat his back, a little more roughly than is strictly necessary now that the bard is breathing. 

“Ger-alt” The bard wheezes between slaps, his weak arms raising but he has no energy to push the other away, and instead just grasps the front of Geralt’s soaked shirt in his fingers. Geralt pulls away and Jaskier feels like he’s a bug under a microscope, his discerning golden eyes study his face for a long moment before he seems satisfied with what he sees.

“You are a magnet for trouble.” He says in his gruff voice but there’s no venom in the statement, and Jaskier relaxes, breathes finally coming easier, and he’s glad for it. 

Taking in his surroundings he notices the girl looking at him curiously, and he bows his head, raising his hand to her to take hers and kisses her hand with a smile. “What a terrible first impression I must be making, Princess. I’m the poet, Jaskier.” He says with a flourish of his other hand and she giggles her eyes lighting up at his name.

“ I know you! You sang at my Mother’s betroval night, Oh Fishmonger, oh fishmonger!” she began to sing and Jaskier joined her. “Come quell your daughter’s hunger!”

“Great now there’s two of them.” Geralt grumbled getting up, wringing out his shirt as best he could. 

“Ah Geralt, don’t be such a sourpuss already. But uh… I must ask, who taught a princess such a naughty song?” He asked with a blush.

“ My Papa, he thought it was funny, Mama always yelled at him for it. How is it dirty Master Jaskier?” she asked genuinely confused and his blush deepened, gaping like a fish and Geralt gave him a smirk, the obvious statement of keeping his mouth shut need not be spoken. 

“Let’s go” Geralt interjected saving the bard an embarrassing explanation and Ciri hopped up from her place on the rock and scurried down obediently, her lesson well learned apparently and Jaskier gave a sigh of relief as he stood to follow, picking up his lute with reverence and looked back at the lake. The red haired mermaid watched him from the ledge and he raised a hand in goodbye and she returned it with a sad smile. His lips turned down at her expression, he assumed by the fact that Geralt had to revive him and the absence of the dark haired siren she had met her end. He lifted his lute to sling the strap over his shoulder and sat on the rock, he’d catch up. His fingers strummed the lute strings with care, and she tilted her head, closing her eyes as she listened. 

“Geralt, wait.” Ciri said, tugging his arm and turned to listen and he gave a sigh doing as asked. The bard was many things, careless, wreckless, some would even say a homewrecker, but not even Geralt could say the bard wasn’t kind. In the dark he could see perfectly, the wetness on the bard’s face was not just that of the lake, but he didn’t comment when he finished playing for the mermaid and joined them with a soft thanks. Geralt grunted a reply and slowed his pace for the bard and the girl, having to remind himself they can’t see as he could in the dark. 

“ We should head back to the town we passed. Can’t deal with a sick kid.” He said noncommittally and Jaskier finally looked at him, the use of ‘we’ not lost on him but he didn’t dare get his hopes up. 

“Of course.” He nodded, “ So I’m sure you’ll be back on your way tomorrow then?” he asked, hope dying as Geralt nodded curtly as he helped the girl into the saddle, untying Roach’s reins from the tree. He sniffed, inadvertently shuddering from the night air. It wasn’t particularly cold out, but the sun burn and the near drowning experience has left him a bit shaken, Geralt’s inevitable abandonment looming over him wasn’t helping either. He knew the Witcher had only needed him to help rescue the girl, not because he wanted him around.

His dark thoughts were interrupted as a large black cloak was put around his shoulders, he looked at the Witcher surprised who gave him a shrug as he turned his eyes back to the path ahead of them. The girl had already begun to dose in the saddle when the Witcher spoke. “We’re leaving an hour past dawn…” he offered without diverting his attention and the bard hmm’d in response. “The girl needs rest and food.” he continued on stating the obvious and Jaskier glanced at him with an inquiring quirked eyebrow. Geralt returned his glance with the slightest quirk of his lips, and Jaskier could believe he imagined it, if it weren’t for what Geralt said next. “You could come along, if you wanted…” He offered gruffly. “Ciri would enjoy your company.” and just as the disappointment starts to creep in Geralt adds quietly. “And it’s been awfully quiet without you…”

Jaskier turns a wide eyed stare to the Witcher who, for all his inabilities to emote, gives a meaningful glance back at him. Jaskier tisks, scratching at his chin as he thinks. “Hmm… well I’d have to totally clear my schedule, the list of venues and banquets that are clambering for my presence is very long, being as celebrated as I am, as you know. And I’d have to write to Oxenfurt, they have been expecting a guest lecture for some time but I suppose they could wait a little longer.” He says flippantly with a grin he cannot hide. 

Geralt rolls his eyes. “Perhaps Novigrad wouldn’t be too far out of the way on our way North. Is the college still considered a sanctuary status?” He asks and the other nods eagerly. 

“A clever hideout, no one would suspect a man such as yourself to take refuge in a liberal arts college.” Jaskier smirked which turned into a full laugh at Geralt’s glare. “You know I jest my friend.” He said bumping his shoulder into the taller man who huffed a laugh in return. “And I have plenty of friends who will be more than willing to aid us.”

They walk on into the night, Jaskier regalling him of all the places he’s been since they parted last, and if the mention a certain kiss is brought up by Ciri the next morning he might blush to hotly and sputter on indignantly for what’s longer than necessary, but Geralt doesn’t seem to mind.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this. I wish I could complete more works than I start because I'd be swimming in witcher stories.


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